Season I | Episode III | Chapter II

Light begins to appear upon the horizon, tinting the night sky with light blues. They’ve started to pack up their camp way before sunrise. Tarrick rubs at his eyes. Prothea yawns. Grandma and Isolniel don’t seem to mind the lack of sleep much. They’re walking a few paces ahead, chatting about… something. Tarrick’s too tired to concentrate enough to understand what they’re saying. It looks interesting, though. Grandma waves her cane around and Isolniel bursts out laughing. Tarrick can’t think he could laugh in these circumstances. A headache already starts to form behind his temples.

It’s so early.

And his breakfast already feels far away. Thankfully, the morning is peaceful. Dust gathers on juniper woodland and pinyon pines. A soft breeze blows and the canyons look as beautiful as ever. Somewhere, he hears a scream. Followed by many others. High-pitched. An eagle-coyote. Many eagle-coyotes. Tarrick hopes they’re not too hungry.

“Argh, shut up!” groans Prothea, sitting on his shoulder.

As if the eagle-coyotes listened, they stop howling.

“Thank Meaning. If I become a morning person, slap me,” says Prothea.

“Tell me about it.”

“I thought you liked opening the bookshop early.”

“Yeah, because there were books involved. I don’t exactly want to climb a mountain.”

“You’ve not warmed up to the idea?”

“Isolniel’s the one who’ll climb. Not me.”

Prothea sniffs. “I don’t know. I’ve had enough experience to worry. Things rarely work out the way we want them to. Unfortunately.”

“Enough experience, huh?”

She chuckles. “I’ve lived nine lives, remember?”

“Ah! Right.”

“There!” Isolniel points at the sky. “Come on, guys! Hurry!”

That’s right. Tarrick looks where she’s pointing at. There, against the early light of the sun, is a giant pillar pointed at the sky. They all pick up the pace. When they turn at a corner in the canyon, they see it. The Growing Rock. It’s unlike any rock he’s ever seen before. It swirls into a spiral shape. As if it wasn’t one, but two pillars, growing together in harmony. The Growing Rock looks impossibly slick. Almost Davrian-made. Or like orange and red ice growing out of the ground and touching the fluffy clouds.

Tarrick’s eyes follow the Growing Rock’s shape down to the ground. His mouth becomes dry.

There’s the opening of a cave, there. It’s large and wide and covered in stalagtites and stalagmites like teeth sticking out of a monster’s mouth. They’ve reached the giant mountain scarlion’s lair. Tarrick’s stomach falls to his feet. He silently wishes Isolniel would get on with it so they can leave. He wants to be as far away as he can when that thing wakes up.

It doesn’t take long before she does get on with it, though.

“Wish me luck,” she whispers.

They raise their thumbs up. Isolniel rubs her paws together. Her bare paws.

“She’s really doing this, huh?” says Prothea in Tarrick’s ear.

“Shhh. Keep quiet.”

They watch her walk up to the side of the Growing Rock. Isolniel takes a deep breath. Tarrick thinks he hears “this is for you Dad” over the whistling of the wind, but he can’t be sure. She starts to climb. And climb. And climb. At first, Tarrick thinks it might be impossible to climb on such a slick surface. But Isolniel makes it work. She doesn’t use a harness at all. She hauls herself, inch by inch, up the side of the Growing Rock. Using her feet, she pushes. Using her paws, she pulls. Isolniel is entirely focussed upon what she has to do. Tarrick doesn’t hear a grunt or a groan. She’s in her element. She climbs and climbs and climbs… until the sun has risen above the canyon walls.

The ground shakes.

Oh no.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. The ground shakes with each footsteps. Tarrick’s mouth runs dry. The mountain scorlion has awoken. Up there on the Growing Rock, Isolniel’s paw slips. Tarrick holds his breath. She catches herself before she could plummet to the ground. Isolniel wraps her body around the pillar. She’s holding on for dear life. Completely silent, at least. But what about them? They’re out in the open and way too close to that thing’s lair! Grandma grabs Tarrick’s arm. Together, they set off back towards the edge of the canyon. Grandma pushes Tarrick inside a thin, long alcove built inside the burnt orange wall. They press together in the shadows. Boom. Boom. Boom. The beast marches closer.

It rounds the corner and appears. Tarrick holds Prothea to his chest. The touch of her fur and feathers under his paws makes him gain some sort of control over himself. Otherwise, he would’ve screamed. Or cried. Or both. That thing is huge. Covered in burnt orange fur and sleek white armour-like skin. As if not all parts fit together. Mandibles stick out of its feline head. Three pairs of mean glowing light orange eyes look around. Curious. Its rounded ears twitch. It sniffs. A low rumble, deep and grounded as the earth, rises from its chest. No matter, the beast walks past them. Muscles ripple under thick skin. Its body goes on forever. Enormous claws open and close. Sticking out of its sternum. Two furry arms appear. Then eight pairs of sleek black legs follow. The mountain scorlion has another pair of furry legs. Its tail finally appears, long and thing and tipped with a venomous stinger. The tail swings back and forth, back and forth. Finally, the mountain scorlion disappears from view.

Grandma, Tarrick and Prothea remain in their spot. Unmoving. Holding their breaths.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Tarrick can feel the sound seep into his bones and vibrate in his back, pressed firmly against the canyon wall. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Not soon enough, the mountain scorlion is gone.

“Come on,” says Grandma gently into his ear. “We have to see how Isolniel’s doing.”

Tarrick’s feet move. It’s a miracle. He thought he’d turned to jelly. He walks out of the alcove and Grandma takes his paw. They walk back into the clearing where the Grown Rock stands proud. Isolniel is still holding on for dear life. But the thing hasn’t seen her. A good thing, too. Tarrick bets she wouldn’t be alive had it spotted her up there clinging to the Growing Rock.

“Are you okay?” asks Grandma, in whispers swallowed by the wind.

“I don’t think she can hear you, Grandma,” says Tarrick.

“Right, right.”

Tarrick raises both thumbs up. Isolniel replies by raising one up. And she starts to climb up again.

“What is she doing?” asks Tarrick, frantic. “That thing could come back at any given time! Have you seen it? It’s dangerous! We have to get out of here. And quick!”

Grandma shrugs. “Don’t tell that to an adrenaline junkie who’s living the dream.”

“Great.”

They watch her climb.

“Taking risks is what makes life worth living,” says Grandma.

Tarrick munches on his bottom lip. “That doesn’t really help quench my fears, Grandma.”

“Well, you know, back in my day as a Chronicler, I’ve done things that were similarly dangerous. I’ve climbed many mountains myself, if you can believe it! There’s been some fascinating discoveries, too. Hidden caves and glowing crystals. I bet…”

Tarrick listens with half an ear. Isolniel climbs. One paw, one foot. The other paw, the other foot. Anxiety grows inside Tarrick. They have to get away. This isn’t safe. Oh, Meaning have mercy, why did he agree to watch? Grandma takes out Isolniel’s camera she’d entrusted her with. When Grandma struggles with the camera, Tarrick picks it up and starts taking pictures. At least it gives him something to do. Something to think about. Something to occupy his paws with. Soon he doesn’t feel nervous anymore. He can’t help but start enjoying this, too. The way the sky and the sun frame Isolniel, she’s cast into shadows. A dark silhouette stark against the morning sky. It’s quite beautiful, honestly.

Finally, finally, Isolniel reaches the top. Her arm circles around the tip of the Growing Rock. She picks out her camera and grins into it. Snap! The flash makes her blink. Still, she holds on firm. Her camera safely back in the pocket on her thigh, she takes a long while to look around. He wonders what the view looks like from up there. Breath-taking, he presumes.

Isolniel’s happiness bubbles too much, though. She starts to laugh. Then she yells:

“I did it! WOOHOOHOOOOOOO!!!!”

The sound is exceptionally loud in Tarrick’s ears. He grabs at his ears and pulls. Her scream reverberates on the canyon walls. Loud and clear. Way too loud and clear.

The ground shakes. It’s faint. But it’s there. A small rock next to Tarrick’s feet moves up and down.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Oh no.

The footsteps get louder quicker. Tarrick looks around. Where are they going to hide? That thing is coming fast. There’s no time to go back to the alcove! This time, he grabs Grandma by the arm and pulls her with him towards the nearest wall. He presses himself against it as much as he can. Silently wishing he could melt with the sheer rock. Of course, that’s impossible. But at least now, maybe the mountain scorlion won’t spot them immediately upon coming back near its lair.

Except Isolniel is now in its line of sight.

“We need to tell her to come down,” hisses Tarrick.

“You shut up or I bite you!” answers Prothea.

“ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

The mountain scorlion’s angry head appears at the edge of the canyon. Tarrick wants to turn to stone himself. This is it. They’re going to die. They’re going to be turned into mountain scorlion fodder. But no. The mountain scorlion doesn’t look in their direction at all. It’s looking straight ahead. Up.

It’s looking at Isolniel.